


Family Doesn't End with Blood

by alanna_the_lionheart



Series: post 4x09 ficlets [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Ornaments, Christmas Tree, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Don't End in Blood, Fluff and Angst, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Loss, Love, One Shot, Romance, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanna_the_lionheart/pseuds/alanna_the_lionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been three days since the shooting - three days since Felicity fell into a coma - and Oliver hasn’t left his fiancé's side. But then Felicity’s mother asks him to go home - to shower, eat a real meal, and sleep in a real bed - and he can’t say no. When Oliver reaches home, he’s met with a vast, empty loft that holds nothing but memories, and he finds himself faced with the prospect of a life spent without the woman he loves. In the end, a Christmas tree, a blanket, and a visit from Donna prove that he’s not as alone as he thinks he is. A story of love, and loss, and how family doesn’t end with blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Doesn't End with Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on the infamous Supernatural line quoted by Bobby Singer: “Family don’t end with blood, boy.” I meant to have this written before Christmas, but that clearly didn’t happen. As such, the Christmas tree may be a bit out of season at this point, but the spirit of Christmas is strong here, and the sentiment behind it stands all year round. Also, I conceived this before any spoilers for 4x10 came out, so you won’t find thoughts of vengeance in it. Friendly warning: you may want to have tissues ready.

**Family Doesn’t End with Blood**

 

As the elevator in his apartment building carries Oliver closer and closer to the place he calls home, his stomach fills with dread. 

 

After three straight days at Felicity's side, he's only returning to the loft because he told Felicity's mother that he would. Thea may have brought him fresh clothes three days ago, but there's no denying what Donna so gently told him: he really does need a shower.

 

Donna had also insisted that he needed a good meal and a real night's sleep in a real bed. Oliver had protested, of course, proving his stubborn streak to be as long as Felicity's, but in the end he'd found it necessary to cave to Donna's request.

 

Donna Smoak is a mother, after all; a quiet plea and a stern look are enough to send Oliver on his way.

 

The elevator dings open, and Oliver's feet carry him to his door. 

 

To his  _home_ **.**

 

He puts his key in the lock, turns it, and lets himself in.

 

But the minute Oliver closes the door behind him, looking out at the vast, empty room, a realization hits him, and it hits him hard.

 

He'll never be able to sleep here alone.

 

Oliver closes his eyes, leans back against the door, and breathes slowly: in through his nose and out through his mouth. He repeats the action three more times before opening his eyes and facing his reality.

 

He's the reason Felicity's in a coma in the first place. That bullet was meant for  _him_ , not for her.

 

He promised Donna he would go home, and he owes it to her to stay.

 

And so Oliver Queen wills his feet to carry him upstairs to a shower.

 

* * *

 

He enters their bedroom and heads straight for the bathroom, not daring to stop and look at the room that holds so many memories. He drops his clothes on the bathroom floor mechanically, focusing intently on going through the motions of showering. He falls easily into the routine of shampooing his hair and washing his body, clinging desperately to the normalcy of the actions in order to distract himself from the thought that he won't find her waiting for him on the other side of the door. 

 

He won't find her in their bed, or on the couch, or in the kitchen.

 

He won't find her anywhere. Not tonight...and maybe not for a long time.

 

Oliver attempts to put down his bar of soap, but he finds that his hands are shaking, and he curses loudly as he fumbles with it, accidently knocking a bottle into the tub in the process. He finally gets the soap back on the rack and bends over to pick up the bottle.

 

It's Felicity's conditioner: the strawberry scented one she's been using for months, ever since he told her he loved the smell of it on her after a long day's work. Oliver lets out a sigh as he stares at the bottle, and without thinking he pops the top of it open and squirts a bit of it into his palm. He puts the bottle back and rubs the conditioner over his hands like it's lotion before bringing his hands to face and inhaling deeply, closing his eyes with a sigh. It's such a familiar, comforting smell, and Oliver would swear she's in the shower with him.

 

But then he opens his eyes and the moment is gone.

 

This smell isn't her. Not anymore. The only smells he can associate with her now are the smells of hospital antiseptic, harsh detergent, and the distinct mechanical scent of all the monitors and devices spewing out her vital signs, reminding him over and over that while she's still alive, he can't be with her.

 

_God,_ he wants to be with her again. He wants to feel her hand holding his hand, her lips caressing his lips, her whole body pressed firmly to his, trembling with need and desire. He wants to hear her yelling his name with anger, whispering it with love, whimpering it with passion. He wants to taste her, to hold her, to talk to her, to make love to her.

 

But he  _can’t_ _._ Not now, and maybe....

 

He refuses to think the thought. She'll come back to him; she  _has to_ _._ He just needs to hold on until she does.

 

Oliver shuts off the shower and climbs out, toweling himself off as he heads into his bedroom.

 

No, not his bedroom.  _Their_ bedroom.

 

Because it truly is  _theirs_ _._ He finds his underwear in the dresser, but he finds hers there, too. He finds a shirt in the closet, but he also finds her huge collection of shoes and her even larger collection of dresses. He finds his deodorant on the dresser, but he finds her earring collection, too. Everything he owns is mixed together with hers, and it makes sense, because he's mixed together with her, too; he’s lost himself so far in Felicity that he knows there's no coming back.

 

Oliver finishes getting dressed, trying to force himself to think of something other than her, but it's impossible. All he has to do is turn around and he's greeted with the sight of their bed...and the realization that he'll never be able to sleep in it without her.

 

Oliver turns off the light in their room and leaves it behind him, hoping he might find peace somewhere else in the loft.

 

He's halfway toward the bed in the spare room when he stops and turns back...because he's looked into that room on more than one occasion and wondered what it would look like with a crib in it.

 

He heads back toward the main room of the loft, and as he begins to slowly descend the stairs, his gaze lands on a small pile of black fabric sitting on the arm of the couch. His feet hit the loft floor, and as he walks toward it he realizes what it is: the black shawl that Felicity has taken to wearing around the loft whenever she gets cold. 

 

Oliver picks it up, rubbing his fingers gently along its soft wool surface, and he raises it to his face. He inhales deeply, and her scent washes over him for the second time that night, bringing memories with it.

 

Memories of Felicity wearing it on cold nights, curled up next to him on the couch as she makes him watch all the Harry Potter movies.

 

Memories of Felicity taking it off when the warmth she finds in his embrace becomes enough.

 

Memories of him carefully taking it off of her and dropping it to the floor so he can kiss her neck; of the two of them making love on the couch, both blissed out from too much wine to bother moving to their bed.

 

Without even thinking, Oliver takes the black fabric and wraps it around his own shoulders. It's small on him, of course, and it hardly does anything to warm him, but between her scent and the familiar touch of it, he feels comforted nonetheless.

 

He looks up...and that's when he finally notices the unlit Christmas tree against the wall.

 

Felicity told him that she and her mother spent an hour decorating it, making sure to add all of Oliver and Thea's decorations...and a few of her own.

 

Oliver walks silently toward the tree and flicks the switch on the powerstrip that will light it up.

 

It's the first time he's turned the tree on himself, and as the lights turn on, casting a bright glow over at least half the large room, he finds himself smiling for the first time in days at the sight and the  _sound_ of it.

 

Growing up Jewish, Felicity had never had a Christmas tree or ornaments, and so she had made it her mission to see that her first Christmas tree held a bit of her own personality to go with Oliver’s.

 

It would seem that her mission had been a roaring success -  _literally_ \- because Felicity has attached a small army of ornaments to the tree that make noise, and they all chirp and squeak and talk at the same time: dozens of mechanical whirs and beeps and phrases playing over each other to create one confused song. He can pick out a few of the individual notes, though: the beep booping of R2D2, Spock's voice telling him to "Live long, and prosper," and the distinct whirring of the TARDIS. 

 

There are also sounds he can't quite discern: references to movies and shows he hasn't heard of or seen yet. There's a theme song whose strains sound vaguely familiar (he's sure he's heard Felicity use it as a ringtone before), and as Oliver walks closer to the tree he notices it's coming from a model of a spaceship with two thrusters on the back that light up a yellowish orange. The whole thing looks vaguely like a firefly, and the music coming from it must be a theme song.

 

Looking closely at the tree, there are many more ornaments he doesn't recognize: ones Felicity has bought over the last two months in an attempt to celebrate Christmas with him the way he had promised to celebrate Hanukkah with her. He sees ornaments from sci-fi and fantasy shows and movies: some he recognizes (the One Ring from  _ Lord of the Rings _ ), and some he doesn't (a model of a spaceship he thinks might be from  _ Battlestar Galactica _ ). There are more traditional ornaments, too: an angel, a snowman, a little drummer boy. To Oliver's amusement, there are also quite a few Hanukkah decorations on the tree.

 

Yet as Oliver looks at all the ornaments he doesn't recognize, a feeling of despair settles in his stomach. He's been introduced to some of her favorite things, and he's introduced her to some of his own, but there's so much about her he still wants to learn; so many of her interests yet to share with her.

 

He looks closer at the ship that looks like a firefly, turning it in his hands, and he smiles fondly at a memory of Felicity explaining to him the travesty that was the cancellation of "a little show that could" called  _ Firefly _ \- one of the best short lived sci-fi shows to ever grace television. Oliver lets the ornament fall against the tree, and tears rise unbidden in his eyes at the thought that he might never get to watch that show with her (it was next on their list).

 

Oliver stands in front of their Christmas tree - a testament to the woman he loves, lying quietly in a coma she might never wake from - and he fights back his tears.

 

And then his gaze lands on a white bear hanging near the bottom of the tree. It's got "Baby's First Hanukkah" printed on its stomach in blue lettering, and stitched onto the blue fabric of its scarf is Felicity's name.

 

Oliver reaches out with suddenly trembling hands and caresses the worn white fur of the stuffed bear. It's small for a stuffed animal - clearly meant for an infant experiencing their first holiday celebration - but large for an ornament. Oliver notices the string Felicity has attached to the back of the bear's blue scarf so she could hang it from the tree: right next to the two tiny snowmen with green and red scarves that bear his and Thea’s names.

 

Blue, green, and red.

 

Felicity, Oliver, and Thea.

 

Together they make a little family. 

 

Oliver’s breath catches in his throat and he chokes on a sob. As carefully as he can, he pulls her little bear off the tree, pressing it under his chin and holding it close to his chest.

 

He's not sure when exactly his legs give out, or when he sinks to his knees, or when he curls up on his side at the base of the tree. All he knows is the last thing he remembers: wrapping her shawl tighter around his shoulders, burying his face into the fabric of her childhood bear...and crying until he falls into an exhausted sleep.

 

* * *

 

Donna slips quietly into Oliver and Felicity's loft, closing the door carefully behind her.

 

She had so desperately wanted to help Oliver. The boy - no, the  _man_ \- she's so quickly begun to think of as a son had needed some time away from her daughter's bedside, and she'd wanted nothing more than for him to have it. A shower, a good meal, a real night's rest in a real bed.

 

But barely an hour after Oliver had left, she had realized that he would never want to be alone in the home he shared with Felicity, no matter how much he's been protesting lately that he's “fine.”

 

In the end, her worry had gotten the best of her, and she’d asked Diggle to stay with Felicity while she headed out after Oliver.

 

She just needs to be sure he’s okay.

 

Walking into her daughter's home, Donna immediately notices the bright light of the Christmas tree, and she smiles. But then her gaze lands on the man curled up at its base, and she bites back a sob.

 

"Oh, Oliver," she whispers, her voice cracking just the slightest on his name.

 

She moves quietly toward him, and on closer inspection she realizes that he's asleep. He has a black shawl wrapped around his shoulders and he's holding what looks like...

 

"Felicity's bear," she says out loud.

 

She watches carefully for the sight of Oliver's chest rising and falling steadily in the depths of sleep, and yes, he  _is_ sleeping, but she can see that it's far from peaceful. Looking closer she realizes that he's shivering, body trembling fitfully and hands fidgeting nervously around the bear he's clutching.

 

Donna lets out a sigh and turns back toward the couch, where she's pretty sure she left a blanket or two earlier that week. She's rewarded with the sight of a nice soft green one, and she picks it up and moves back to his side.

 

Donna bends down next to Oliver and carefully covers him with the blanket, tucking it in under his back, over his shoulder, and around his chest. He shudders slightly from her touch, but he doesn't wake. Donna's just about stand when a soft whimper reaches her ears.

 

"Mom?"

 

Her heart clenches painfully in her chest at the sound of Oliver calling out from his sleep. She kneels down next to him and runs a hand along his shoulder, massaging it gently. His shaking begins to lessen, and as she rubs his upper back with her other hand, it ceases all together. 

 

She smiles and runs a hand soothingly across his brow, hoping to calm him.

 

"I'm here, sweetie. It's okay," she reassures him. She runs a hand gently through the hair that's fallen against his forehead, rubbing at the creases of distress she finds there.

 

Oliver leans into her touch and sighs. The worry on his brow fades with his shivering, and he relaxes under the warmth of the blanket and the gentleness of her touch. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, still clutching Felicity's bear, but he doesn't wake.

 

Instead he utters four simple words that will change both their lives forever.

 

"I love you, Mom," he whispers, and his breathing evens out as he finally calms into a peaceful sleep.

 

Donna fights back her tears, wanting to stay strong for him like he's stayed strong for her. She bends down and kisses the top of his head.

 

"I love you, too, honey. Sleep, Oliver.” 

 

As Donna Smoak gets shakily to her feet, her heart swells with love for the man sleeping fitfully on the floor in front of her. Watching Oliver Queen curl up under the blanket, wrapping his hand tighter around the stuffed bear with his fiancé's name on it, he looks so young, and the realization hits her hard: he **is** young. Oliver is only thirty years old, but he's experienced more in his short thirty years on Earth than most people experience in their lifetimes. He's so young, still - only a few years older than her baby girl - but he's so world weary already; so worn and tired.

 

Donna stares down at the boy she's begun to think of as her son, and she vows in that moment that she'll do whatever it takes to protect him. After all, he'd do the same for her, and for her daughter. 

 

He  _has_ done the same for her daughter. 

 

Oliver told her how he tried to protect Felicity, covering her body with his. How he'd never wanted to leave her, but how he’d felt he had no choice if they were to ever escape the barrage of bullets. How he'd crawled out of the backseat, into the line of fire, so he could drive them away.

 

Felicity might be in a coma, but she's  _alive. _

 

Donna owes her entire world to Oliver, and she'll do whatever it takes to protect him because she owes him that...and so much more. 

 

And so she bends back down and whispers softly in his ear.

 

"Everything will be better in the morning, Oliver. I promise."

 

Of course she has no idea if that's true, but it's meant to comfort him. It's something she's said to her daughter many times in the past, particularly in the months after her husband left them. 

 

Donna stands once more and finally turns from him. She sits on the edge of the couch and takes off her shoes before lying down and curling up under the other blanket she saw, which she recognizes as one of the blankets Felicity had had years ago in Vegas. She wraps the blanket tightly around her shoulders and lets out a soft sob as she buries her head into one of the pillows on the couch and falls asleep herself.

 

She wakes the next morning to the smell of coffee and pancakes, a whispered "thank you," and a fierce, welcome hug that gives both of them strength.

  
**_...the end…_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if any of the Christmas ornaments I mentioned actually exist (aside from the Spock ornament I hear on my parent’s Christmas tree every year), but if anyone can find a way to make a Firefly ornament that plays “The Ballad of Serenity,” it’s Felicity Smoak. :)


End file.
